


Trapped

by HiddenTohru



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenTohru/pseuds/HiddenTohru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early on in her travels, Laeti reflects on how things have come to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in March 2010.

Laeti settled down beside the fire, a roll of maps in her hands. They were looking for a small village called Haven, and she wanted to check, for the fifth time, if they were going in the right direction. After only a few moments, however, she forgot about the maps and began gazing into the fire, her thoughts wandering.

Four months. It had been at least that long since she had left her clan, her entire world behind. Four insane months, chasing darkspawn and the Blight across the wild country called Ferelden, rescuing qunari from cages and helping mages whose home had been invaded and nearly destroyed, and then Alistair had confessed his birthright to her and they had battled undead monsters and now, now they were going on another insane quest to find a burnt up dead woman in hopes that the Arl of Redcliffe could be healed.

She wasn't sure how it had come to this. All this time, and she had felt so lost, trapped in the duty of being one of only two Grey Wardens in the entire country, wanting only to run home, to be back among her own people, not even knowing where she could possibly find them. The Dalish had mostly moved north, escaping the Blight as much as the shemlen were, and she was left behind with only a bitter taste in her mouth, wondering how they could let her go so easily.

She had not told Alistair how she really felt about Duncan, knowing that even if he was a shemlen, she should not speak ill of the dead. And he had been so sad, as if Duncan had been his father instead of his leader, as if the man deserved to be mourned when he forced such a life on unwilling people. But, she reminded herself, Alistair had been trapped when Duncan recruited him. Such an interesting parallel, that. Alistair had escaped his gilded cage, and she had been trapped in one. One was given freedom (or at least more gentle servitude) and the other was enslaved.

That was what galled her the most. To be enslaved, as the Dalish had sworn never to be, as she had sworn she would never be. She had heard the tales of slavers raiding Dalish camps, of foolish young elves falling in love with flatears and entering that life, and often paying dearly for it. She and Tamlen had often talked of it, of how they would never be taken, how they would die together defending themselves rather than allow themselves to be enslaved.

But Tamlen was dead. Or worse, if the taint hadn't killed him yet. And she had been enslaved in a more subtle trap than any she could have anticipated. One of duty, and desperation. Stopping the Blight, with only two Grey Wardens and a ragged band of misfits.

The first stab had come when they entered Lothering. She was sorry for the deaths at Ostagar, for betrayal is always a tragedy. But she had not felt sorrow. When they entered the city and saw how dark things were, how frightened the people, she had felt pity for them. And Alistair had smiled at her, when she had tried to comfort the young boy looking for his mother. She had never even spoken to a shemlen child before that day, and yet she wanted to help him.

Was this duty? She wondered often, late into the night at camp, when she was on watch and other times as well. Had she begun caring about the people they met simply because she was a Warden? Was it because she saw them, now, their desperate faces as they begged for help, their prayers to the Maker, their grateful smiles after she helped them? The shemlen had always been more theory than anything else, growing up, her clan encountered them so rarely, and always with hostility and distrust. She had never seen them starving, heard their cries of pain and fear, watched them try to defend their very lives with nothing more than fists and anger.

And then there was Alistair. When had he stopped being "the other Warden" and become Alistair? She had called him an idiot, the first time they met, and he had laughed it off, but the sting had been felt. She had sometimes felt irritated by his flippant manner and how he wanted everything to be honorable. Sometimes fighting dirty was the only way, and sometimes people needed to die, and she hated being lectured otherwise. And yet, when it had come down to it, in Redcliffe castle, she had gone out of her way to save them. He had thanked her for it later, tears in his eyes, thanked her for saving the only people he could even marginally claim as family, and she realized then that she did care about how he saw her.

Four bloody months traveling across this country, and everything she had been raised to know had proven wrong. Humans were not all ravening beasts, although a good many still did get a nasty sneer when she tried to talk to them as equals. She had been quite offended by Leliana's insinuations about her people, and maintained a firm distance from the bard, even as she had fraternized with Zevran, since he was the only other elf in their ragtag band. It had been fun, at first, and meaningless, and it helped her distance herself from the things she wanted so much to escape. But then Alistair had spoken to her, and his eyes were so sad, and she wanted nothing but to make him smile, to take away his pain. She had broken things off with Zevran then, and was sorry for the pain she'd inflicted on him.

Confusion ruled her thoughts now. In only four months, through so many battles, with so many to come, she had become enamored of a man she could never have seen herself caring for. She still loved Tamlen, although she had never been brave enough to speak those words to him when he had lived, only hinting and spending every moment with him and dancing with him at the festivals and clanmeets. She had loved him, and he had known it. They had never needed to speak the words, although their affection had never gone past a quick kiss stolen on a hot summer night, not long before...

Enough, now. Tamlen was gone, and Alistair ruled her thoughts. Alistair, of the goofy grin and spiky hair, teasing her about lampposts and blushing when she exposed his innocence. The way he held his shield in battle. The silly grin he got when she gave him another one of those stupid figurines. The way his eyes would go off into the distance, late at night when he was on watch and thought no one was looking. The way he stared into the fire. And oh, the way he looked at her.

She was trapped, now, truly trapped. Oh Duncan, if only he had known how well his plans would work out. Or perhaps he had known, and that was why she had been chosen.

If ever there had been a time for her to flee, to try to escape the Blight, the Wardens, her duty, it was past. She was trapped by a warm smile and a strong pair of hands and a voice that sounded like music to her now, whether he was shouting a battle cry or making a joke or murmuring soft words of endearment.

She looked up and saw him coming toward her, a question in his eyes. She nodded, and he sat down beside her. "Do you have a minute, to talk?"

She smiled. "For you, Alistair, always."

 


End file.
